


All Of My Days

by ebenflo



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Age Difference, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, Hand Wavey Magic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Endgame, Protective Peter Parker, Rating May Change, Time Skips, Time Travel, Young Tony Stark, grown-up morgan stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-02-10 17:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18664858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebenflo/pseuds/ebenflo
Summary: Peter is 38 years old when he walks into his lab, a near perfect facsimile of the one he shared with Tony so many years ago, and finds a young man crouched on the cement floor. He’s decades younger than Peter recalls but there’s no doubt in his mind.Tony Stark, naked, shivering, and Bambi-eyes blown full-wide, stares back at him





	1. Chapter 1

Peter is 16 years old, standing on the edge of a lake. He’s dressed in a starchy dark blue suit that itches below the collar and he thinks he might be out of tears, the ones he’s already shed growing cold and sticky on his flushed cheeks. May’s hand is a warm, familiar weight on his shoulder and Peter is convinced he will never be happy again (even though a small part of his brain tells him that is not true). The last time he wore a suit was to bury his Uncle Ben; another death to add to his tally. His ledger is red and he thinks he owes the universe a lot. But he’s sure the universe might owe him more.

 

Peter thinks too much and Pepper tells him so, her lips tissue-paper soft and dry on his cheek. She looks so elegant, even in her grief, and Peter knows he could never live up to _that_. Knows there was no comparison between the willowy, fierce woman before him and well, him. Awkward, gangly, not a boy and no where near the man he proclaims himself to be. He feels a little ashamed but Pepper takes him quietly into her arms anyway as he sobs, and tells him he has nothing to be embarassed about, that she knows how much Tony meant to Peter. Reassures him how much _he_ meant to _Tony_ , who risked it all to bring back his “Kid”. She tells him she would have been proud to have him as a son. Peter cries harder and doesn’t stop until Morgan crawls on his lap and rests her small dark head on his chest.

 

*

 

Peter is 22 years old and graduating from MIT with first class honours. He sees May and Ned in the crowd and his heart blooms hot and wild. He gives a speech filled with gratitude and joy, and tries not to imagine the ghost of a man applauding him loudly and obnoxiously from the wings, fierce pride in his eyes. He talks about hard work and sacrifice, knowing that his words are weighted with far more than he could ever convey to an auditorium full of strangers. He talks about saving the world and people laugh because it’s funny and sweet, coming from this talented, charming young man, and they’ll never know the agony that such an action leaves in its wake. Of the price they had to pay. They’ll never know about the photo Peter keeps in his drawer, or the way he can’t get warm at night no matter how many blankets he piles over his legs. Peter wakes up on those nights with ice in his veins and a weight on his chest. The waves are high and this time there’s no Iron Man to save him from drowning. Peter wakes screaming, sending May running. Or else he wakes silently, sobbing into the clutch of his twisted sheets.

 

Peter moves out with a battered suitcase and a box of memories, and promises May of course, he’ll write.

 

*

 

Peter is 37 years old and CEO of a bustling company. It’s no Stark Industries but Peter is doing just fine. He’s fine too with juggling a super-hero side-act. Likes the physicality of being Spider-Man and the mental gymnastics of his day-job. Thrives on keeping busy, not exactly happy…but maybe content enough when the exhaustion drives him to dreamless sleep. The nightmares still come but they’re fewer and far between. He gains muscle, finally. He learns to cook. He visits Steve on his days off, sharing peanut butter sandwiches with the older man, listening to quietly spoken stories of the OG 6 and their adventures. Steve’s days are numbered now, and Peter treasures each moment they spend together. Perhaps they’re a substitute for something else to the other, but they never voice it. Steve watches Captain America on the tv screen with unshed tears shimmering in his eyes. They both call it “allergies” and share a private smile. Peter never intends on staying long but does so anyway.

 

*

 

Peter is 38 years old when he walks into his lab, a near perfect facsimile of the one he shared with Tony so many years ago, and finds a young man crouched on the cement floor. He’s decades younger than Peter recalls but there’s no doubt in his mind.

 

Tony Stark, naked, shivering, and Bambi-eyes blown full-wide, stares back at him.

 

And that’s when the lights go out.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter watches warily as the figment of his imagination (because Peter’s still not convinced this is happening) hoes into the second of three cheeseburgers. Plump red lips part as Tony licks stray burger sauce from his hand and Peter feels unbearably hot and agitated. He groans internally, watching that soft, wet tongue dart between the webs of his fingers. His mysterious visitor is now dressed in grey sweatpants and a faded Black Sabbath shirt that was vintage when Peter had stolen it from the wardrobe of its former owner, and is by now quite ancient. Peter knows he shouldn’t have done it, that he should have found _this_ Tony something else to wear. His hands had trembled when he took the shirt out of the bottom dresser drawer where it had lived for many years. He had tried not to press his face into it, seeking the faded scent of a man long gone. He did so anyway and was greeted only with the smell of fabric softener and drawer liners.

 

He rubs his temples and rests his chin on his hands, quietly watching Tony practically maul the meal Peter had ordered in by drone. When the lights had first gone off, Peter had been grateful. He was sure that when they flickered back on, he would find himself alone as always. But before the back-up generator could kick in, a familiar voice had cut across the inky darkness, dashing any hopes he might have held on to that this was all a dream.

 

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more, Toto.”

 

As it soon transpires, 22 year old Tony Stark has all of the sass and and none of the dark edges of the Tony he knew (Peter tries not to think of that one as “his” Tony, because frankly that just bloody hurts). Peter had stood rooted to the spot, shaking all over. Within seconds the back-up generator had kicked in, flooding the lab in eerie blue-white light.

 

“Enjoying the view?”

 

“M-Mister Stark?” Peter had squeaked. He didn’t think it was possible to squeak at his age but apparently it was very possible.

 

“Yeeep, that’s my father. Or rather, _was_ my father. Did you know him? Who am I kidding,” Tony snorted. “Everyone knows Howard Stark. The name’s Tony. And you are…my saviour, apparently. Thanks, man. Where am I? Or rather, when am I?”

 

Peter gawped silently.

 

“Okay, firstly, we’re going to have to do something about “naked” situation.” Tony made little quotation marks in the air, leaving a great deal of his body uncovered to Peter’s delight and mortification. “Secondly, if you are gonna stare, and let’s be honest you’re only human, you could at least tell me your name. Thirdly, gosh thirdly? I am starving, do you have anything to eat?”

 

So that was how _this_ Tony had come to be sitting at the high bench in Peter’s lab wearing _that_ Tony’s shirt. Peter restrains himself from saying too much too soon, watches cautiously as Tony smacks his lips and gives a contented grin. It’s infectious and Peter can’t help but smile back, albeit nervously.

 

“So, Mystery Saviour, who are you?” Tony asks, leaning back on the stool and taking a swig of Coke. “I mean, it seems you know my family. So I guess that means you know me? The me of the future? God this is going to screw with my brain. Old Howard would have loved this, what a mess.”

 

“My name is Peter Parker. I’m…a friend,” Peter chooses his words carefully. _Friend_ sounds so woefully inadequate but he doesn’t think anything else would make too much sense or be appropriate. Mentee, employee, confidante…son? Peter cringes.

 

“C’mon you gotta give me more than that. You’ve got Tony Stark sitting in your lab apparently having travelled like…I dunno, fifty years into the future and you’re sitting there staring at me like you’ve seen a ghost.” Tony laughs nervously. “Is future me really _that_ bad? C’mon, am I famous, rich…er, popular, handsome? At least tell me I kept all my hair. What am I like in your time, Peter Parker?”

 

Which…yeah. Peter’s heart sinks. He’s stuck on that one. Tony’s big eyes are bright and eager, and it throws fresh salt on wounds Peter thought long-healed. How do you tell someone they have no future? That they never get to grow old to see the world they give their life to save? That they never see their only child grow into an amazing woman in her own right? _Morgan_! Peter is utterly baffled. He has no idea how he’s going to explain this one. Remembers someone's quote about screwing with time and it screwing back. And _Pepper_! Peter feels overwhelmingly nauseous, knowing the time to give an answer is running out. Tony’s grin wavers a little, like he senses the uneasiness in the room. He rolls the empty Coke bottle between his palms and cocks his eyebrow at Peter.

 

“What, you’re going to tell me I actually am a ghost?” Tony laughs again but it’s short lived.

 

“You died, Tony,” Peter blurts out. He’s 16 years old again, on the edge of that lake, watching the flowers drift off into the sunset. Pepper’s arms are around him and his sobs are choking in his throat.

 

“I’m sorry but _WHAT?”_

 

“You…I’m so sorry Tony. It’s been…god it’s been years. But we- I-. Jeez, Tony, there's no easy way to tell you this, is there.”

 

In that moment it feels like the air has been sucked out from the room. Neither of them say anything. So Peter does what he does best: he rambles. But he omits things. He plays up the good parts. Leaves himself out, mostly. Doesn’t tell Tony about Morgan or Pepper either. Oh why oh why does he not tell him about Morgan and Pepper? Peter swallows the shame.

 

Tony listens, eyes like saucers.

 

“And then you…you saved us. All of us. Like, the whole world - universe!”

 

Tony lets out a sigh.

 

“Just like that?”

 

“Just like that.”

 

Tony gives him a small, grim smile.

 

Peter doesn’t mention the sleepless nights, the guilty fucks where every older man between his legs is Tony Stark. Doesn’t talk about the short-lived substance abuse in his senior year, when he discovers his metabolism burns through the drugs anyway and leaves him with none of the escape and all of the shame.

 

“Huh. Figures. Well then, how do we reverse this all?” Tony screws up his paper napkin and gets up, startling Peter who jumps up along with him.

 

“Woah! No no no. You- you can’t just go ahead changing the time-stream like that!”

 

“Why not? I got here didn’t I?”

 

“Yeah, and we still have no idea how that happened.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes and shakes his head, a stray dark curl bouncing on his forehead.

 

“Yikes, give me a little credit. I have some idea of how I ended up here. Like, I dunno, twenty percent of an idea.”

 

“But you don’t know what will happen if we send you back in time. Our time, here, in this time-stream.”

 

“Yeah we do. You punch the purple guy, I grab the pretty rocks. Kiss kiss bang bang, I snap my fingers and we all live happily ever after. Sound like a plan?”

 

“No!” Peter surprises himself just how forceful he sounds. Apparently he surprises them both. He clenches his teeth so hard they clack together. “I said no, okay? I’ve lost you once- twice! I’m not doing it again.”

 

Tony stops dead in his tracks and stares at Peter.

 

“What did you just say?”

 

“I meant…”

 

“Yeah I heard what you meant. What did you say your relationship was? To me?”

 

“I—“

 

“You’re getting a little flustered there Parker.” Tony steps closer into Peter’s personal space. “Something you wanna tell me?”

 

Peter stands a little taller than Tony, who stands almost on tip toe to meet Peter’s eyes. This close Peter can see the golden flecks amongst the toffee brown, like tiny stars within their own galaxy. It’s then that the system reboots, a loud hum filling the lab.

 

“Lights are back on,” Peter says unnecessarily as he takes a faltering step back. He winces as his hip bangs hard into the corner of the bench.

 

“Yep, they sure are,” Tony says, not backing down. He stares at Peter. “We got ourselves an impasse, friend. Seems to me like we have an opportunity to save me and you’re too scared to take it.”

 

“I won’t lose you again,” Peter says, firmer, more confident. He lets out a long deep sigh, mouth twisted in a firm line. “I’m sorry Tony, I won’t do it.”

 

Leaving the words hanging in the air, soft and fragile, he turns and walks away.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter retreats down the hallway feeling cowardly. He knows there are many right things he could do given his current predicament: call Rhodey. Call Pepper. Tell Tony _about_ Pepper. Running away is not high on that list of things. Neither is hiding, he thinks as he slinks into his room, the door closing behind him with a near-silent _swoosh_. There’s nothing particularly heroic about this, but he can’t stand the curious light in Tony’s eyes, doesn’t want to defends the reasons behind his near-outburst. He understands sorrowfully that he means nothing this iteration of Tony. That he is practically - if not entirely - a stranger. This Tony doesn’t know anything about not-hugs, Titan or Infinity Stones. This Tony is a newly minted CEO of Stark Industries who just lost his parents. Peter feels a particularly potent surge of nausea when he thinks of _Bucky_. There is absolutely no way Tony can meet Bucky.

 

Peter paces restlessly like a caged animal. He feels embarrassed and lost. Doesn’t know what to do about the man sitting in his lab who is both older and younger, both gone and _here_. The juxtaposition of the two gives him whiplash.

 

“Karen, update,” he begs, chewing nervously on his bottom lip.

 

“Tony Stark is still in the lab, sir.”

 

“Vitals?”

 

“Normal, mostly. His heart rate is a little fast and he has a low-grade fever but everything else appears in normal limits.”

 

“Good…yeah okay, that’s good,” Peter murmurs idly. “Karen?”

 

“Yes, boss?”

 

“Is it really him?” Peter’s voice is timid, a whispered prayer.

 

_He’s 19 years old again and standing in the rain by a bronze plaque, dedicated to one of the college’s most prestigious patrons. Crowds mill past him like salmon against the tide, but his fingers rest on the engraved name. His heart feels as heavy as it did that day on the battlefield._

 

_Misses him so damn much he may as well have lost a limb or a vital organ._

 

Karen pauses.

 

“Yes, Peter. I ran the numbers not long after he arrived. The genetic profile matches one hundred percent. It’s Tony.”

 

“I— I’ve missed him so much Karen.” Peter confesses in a hushed breath. There’s a profound ache settling somewhere behind his sternum and he rubs at it with the heel of his palm, even though he knows it won’t get rid of it. 

 

Karen lets out a sigh, soft as a breeze in Peter’s ear.

 

“We all have, Peter. He was my creator, he made me who I am.” Karen’s presence transcends more than AI tech but they rarely speak so frankly.

 

“Me too.” Peter bites his lip and tastes the faint tang of blood on the edge of his tongue. He licks the graze, quiet for a moment, reflective. “Karen?”

 

“Yes Peter?”

 

“What’s he doing? Tony, what’s he doing right now?”

 

“He’s outside your door.”

 

Peter is startled by the sudden gentle rapping of knuckles against his bedroom door.

 

“Uh hello, Mr Parker? It’s just me, Tony. I mean, obviously it’s me. I mean who else would it be, right? But can we uh, can we please talk?”

 

Peter clears his throat and runs his hands through the matted tresses of his hair.

 

“Uh, yeah, sure. Let’s talk.”

 

Tony lets out a little snort and there’s a dull thud, like his forehead falling forward against the door.

 

“I kinda meant face to face, Parker.”

 

Peter screws up his eyes and rubs his ruddy cheeks. There’s no disguising the fact he looks like an absolute mess. Tony seems to take Peter’s silence as an invitation and creeps into the room, his silhouette rimmed with gold by the light from the hall. 

 

“I’m sorry." The words tumble from both of them simultaneously, both eager, both sheepish.

 

Tony chuckles softly, without humour. He plunges one hand into the pocket of Peter’s hand-me-down sweats and the other rubs warily at his neck.

 

“I _am_ sorry,” Tony says gently. “For being pushy like that. I know it’s kinda not my place. It was just such a shock-“

 

“Tony I-“

 

Tony holds up placating hands to silence Peter, then gestures to the space on the bed next to him. Peter remembers the first time he met Tony Stark in the flesh, all those years ago, in the cramped confines of his tiny bedroom in May’s apartment.

 

_I’m going to sit here so you move the leg._

 

He remembers Tony’s black, bruised eye, gravelly voice and the homemade onesie. He thinks of walnut date loaf and fake scholarships.

 

Tony gingerly sits down on the edge of the bedspread. Despite the healthy distance Tony puts between them Peter’s spider senses can still sense the heat rolling off the other man’s body, can smell the faintest whiff of cologne and engine oil, and the sweetness of the sugary drink he must have finished before coming over. Tony runs the tip of his tongue over his chapped lips and starts again.

 

“Look, I get it. It’s obvious he…I mean…obviously Tony meant a lot to you. I can see that.” Tony shakes his head and puts his hand over Peter’s and Peter feels eviscerated by that simple touch alone. “But I’m sorry Peter, I’m not that guy. I’m not your Tony.”

 

And there it is. Peter knows this of course, but it hurts all the same. The ghosts of the past shimmer and disappear as Peter tries to laugh it off. The noise sounds wounded and wrong as it slips from his lips all the same.

 

“Yeah of course. I know that.”

 

Tony regards him warily with a flicker of pity and Peter feels an awful lot like he’s about to throw up.

 

“Do you?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, the past is the past, it’s fixed. You can’t change anything, right?”

 

Peter doesn’t mean to sound so defensive but Tony is rapidly peeling off his layers of self-pity and grief like the skin of an onion, leaving Peter raw and exposed.

 

Tony nods, removing his hand from Peter’s. The absence leaves Peter colder than ever.

 

“Right.” Tony smiles, just a little quirk of his lip. “God, he really lucked out with you, didn’t he? Did he know?”

 

“Kn-know what?” Peter stammers, heart lurching up to jam in his throat.

 

“That you were in love with him?”


	4. Chapter 4

Peter goes cold.

 

_That you were in love with him._

 

Tony’s words are pregnant with meaning and consequence. Peter doesn’t bear to think about any of them. He gets up to leave, to flee again, but finds himself tethered towards the bed. He glances down to where Tony’s fingers are wrapped around the bony circumference of his wrist. Dewy skin in stark contrast to his own pale complexion. Vice-like, they don’t budge.

 

“Please,” Tony says. His voice is soft, plaintive. “Don’t leave, I’m being a jackass. I was out of line, again. It's a personality trait.

 

Peter’s eyes are pleading and Tony misinterprets it as discomfort. He lets go of Peter’s wrist and returns his hands to rest in his lap.

 

"Look, I’m sorry if I’m off the mark.”

 

Peter’s flesh burns as if Tony’s grasp leaves him branded. He nearly drops to his knees, desperate and craving for that touch. Tony’s skin was warm and soft, the pads of his fingers not yet calloused and scarred. Peter doesn’t remember Tony ever being so tactile with him. Tony, who always sought to preserve the sacred boundary of mentorship and filial affection between them so carefully, even as Peter, burgeoning with adolescent fervour, pushed those same boundaries at every opportunity.

 

“It’s just…you look at me like I’m something _worthy_ , you know?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers hoarsely, feeling like a live wire. His palms are clammy and he thrusts his hands in his pockets to disguise the way they’re shaking.

 

”At least tell me I deserved it. Tell me that I was worthy, that I became a good man?” Tony Stark, asking for affirmation. It almost breaks Peter's heart all over again.  

 

“You were,” Peter promises, his mouth bone-dry and his throat on fire. “You _are_.”

 

Tony laughs but the sound is hollow.

 

“I’m doing okay, Parker. Did well in school. Got back on track after…after the accident. Haven’t completely run SI into the ground…yet. But I know what the gossip columns say. I’m a brat. I’m a narcissist. I don’t think they'd say I’m a good man.”

 

“Tony you sacrificed _everything_ ,” Peter insists, stunned by just how flippant Tony seems to be about this. He needs Tony to _understand_. “You were more than good. You were…the greatest. Of all of us. And we never forgot, not ever. All the memorials...and then all the foundations in your name, in your memory. You were so many things to so many people.”

 

“And to you?” Peter imagines Tony sounds reverent in that moment, but more than anything he sounds genuinely curious. He looks up at Peter through thick, clumped lashes and Peter feels faint. “What did I mean to you, Mr Parker?”

 

Peter groans softly, a wounded sound, feeling unbearably hot.

 

“You were my friend Mr- Tony. You were my teacher.”

 

“Was that all, Mr Parker?”

 

Tony’s eyes glow amber, beacons in the dim lights of Peter’s room. Peter realises with the same dull ache in his chest that unlike _his_ Tony, this Tony is smaller than him. He looks at home amongst the soft grey duvet and the dark throw cushions. _He looks like he belongs here,_ Peter thinks foolishly.

 

Then he remembers the photo in his drawer. Remembers the September Foundation and Aunt May. Gone three winters, the phantom of her smile haunts him still. He misses her fiercely, and wonders what sage advice she would offer now, in his current predicament.

 

“I was a child, then,” Peter bites off, trying not to sound bitter and wounded. “When you found me I was fifteen years old, struggling with grief and responsibility. I’d lost my parents, my uncle. My aunt, she…she made it bearable. She was a good woman. A terrible cook.”

 

Peter smiles a little to himself.

 

“We made do, but we lived paycheque to paycheque. I was lost, I had no idea what my powers meant for me, or my family and friends. Only knew I wanted to keep them safe, make my neighbourhood just a little bit better. Then one day, there you were. God, you...you walked into my life, took me under your wing. You gave me a job and a purpose. You gave me so much. I needed a hero and you found me.”

 

“So I was the Obi Wan to your Luke?” Tony teases. It’s obvious from his jovial tone he’s trying to lighten the atmosphere but it works nonetheless. Peter struggles not to return his playful smile.

 

“Yeah, guess you could say that. The Obi to my Luke.”

 

They sit in companionable silence for a moment.

 

“Now are you going to explain what you meant when you said 'your powers', or do I have to wrestle it out of you?"

 

Peter curses softly at his slip. When he recounted the story of the hero's journey he'd purposefully omitted his own role, not needing to complicate matters more than they already were. But Tony was far too perceptive to miss his current lapse.

 

Tony looks positively gleeful.

 

"Come on Parker, I think we both know you're feigning innocence here. You honestly don't think I would have guessed that you played a much bigger role than you're letting on? I mean look around. All these bells and whistles. The high tech security, not to mention that ridiculously intuitive AI system. So come on, what do you do? Turn invisible? _Fly_?"

 

Peter groans, starting to think vaguely that this Tony might be a bigger pain in his ass than his predecessor. Tony's expression resembles a shark that's tasted blood, lips stretched wide over perfect white teeth. Peter realises that if this Tony is anything like the man he's going to become, there is no way he is letting this go. And maybe it will make it easier going forwards, especially since they're going to have to restore things back the way they were at some point - though Peter has absolutely no idea how they're going to achieve that.

 

"It would be easier to show you," Peter says slowly, thinking of his training centre downstairs.

 

They ride the lift down side by side, the proximity of Tony's bare arm to his own making the hairs on Peter's stand on end. There is something soft and warm in his belly. He casts a sidelong look at Tony and realises the younger man is staring at him. He expects a smile or a teasing remark but Tony says nothing, holding his gaze with an unreadable expression.

 

The lift  _dings_ open a few moments later and they don't move. Peter yearns to reach out, cup the soft line of Tony's jaw...

 

"You first," Tony says, voice hoarse, holding the lift door open before it can close, gesturing a little over-dramatically for Peter to step through.

 

Tony follows a few steps behind and as they enter the cavernous interior of the training centre he lets out a low, impressed whistle, eyeing the beams and ropes that line the ceiling. 

 

"Not sure what I was expecting but damn Parker, this is really something."

 

"Save the applause for the end," Peter finds himself murmuring easily, a part of him now giddy with the thrill that he's going to get to show  _Tony Stark_ his powers for the first time all over again. It's like  _Queens_ but this time he's more sure of himself, and when Tony lets out a little whoop as the nanites swarm over his chest Peter can't help but grin inside the nanite plate that swallows his face. 

 

For the next few minutes Tony watches in delight as Peter leaps and springs through the gym, slinging himself across the familiar ropes course and bouncing off the walls. Tony yells orders out and Peter is only too happy to comply. And if Peter is showing off a little, his body curving and arching as he slices through the air, what of it? Peter feels too giddy and light to let the guilt weigh him down. In that moment as he soars across the gym there's only the flex of his muscles and the perfect balance of weightlessness. He swoops down and lands next to Tony, the suit's helmet retracting to reveal his flushed pink cheeks and toussled hair. He runs his tongue over his lips, feeling the adrenaline still surging through him. He tries to ignore the heavy heat between his thighs. He's hard. He tells himself it's the adrenaline but he knows better.

 

"Have to say, never thought I'd meet an actual super-hero," Tony says a little breathlessly, running his fingers over the web-shooter on Peter's wrist and Peter goes warm all over at the awe in Tony's voice.

 

Peter's erection presses uncomfortably within the metallic confines of the suit. Tony's so close to him now. The nanites on Peter's forearm skitter and shift, leaving Tony's fingers on his bare skin.

 

"Tony I..." Peter's gaze shifts to the plump swell of Tony's bottom lip. Tony's mouth is so soft, so red. He only needs to close the meagre distance between them, claim what he never could in their past life. The musky tang of arousal rolls off Tony so palpably. Peter's own mouth is wet with want. It would be so easy...

 

Tony is the first to break away.

 

"It's late. W-we should get some sleep. Need to figure out a way to uh, get me back. In the morning. I uh...it's late." Tony finishes lamely. He doesn't meet Peter's eyes. He looks just as ruffled as Peter. A small consolation. Peter can't help but feel sorely disappointed, but the disappointment has the bitter chaser of shame.

 

He can't believe what he had almost done.

 


	5. Chapter 5

For the remainder of the night Peter lays mostly awake in bed. He stares at the familiar curves and edges of his bedroom ceiling, thinking of the younger man in his guest room three doors down. When he does sleep it’s in dribs and drabs, and when he wakes again around half four in the morning there is an uncomfortable stickiness inside his boxers. It’s the first time in years. His brow furrows in self-disgust as he peels himself out of the tangle of sheets and hobbles to his ensuite, stripping out of his soiled pants along the way.

 

“Karen?” he croaks, knowing she’s always there, a quiet witness to his humiliation.

 

“Yes, Peter?”

 

“Where is he?”

 

“Still sleeping boss.”

 

Peter turns the cold tap on all the way and barely flinches as he soaks his over-heated skin under the icy spray, washing away the evidence of his wet-dream from his thighs and touching himself the bare minimum down there. He stubbornly refuses to give in and think of Tony Stark. After his shower Peter towels off quickly, mechanically, and pulls on a faded SHIELD hoodie and pair of black jeans, ripped at the knees. Catching sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he sighs wearily. He’s learned over the years that accelerated healing doesn't do a lot for sleep deprivation or exhaustion. Frankly, he looks wrecked. Finally, Peter makes his way down to the open-plan kitchen. He slides on to a stool at the breakfast counter, tinkering with a broken prototype gadget, until the first rays of the morning sun peek over the horizon.

 

Peter is lost in thought when there’s a tap on the glass a few feet away.

 

“Morning Petey-Pie,” comes a familiar sing-song voice. He glances up to see a tall, leggy brunette beaming at him. Peter’s heart drops as Morgan Stark slides open the door of his balcony and lets herself in, carrying two cups of coffee and a brown paper bag.

 

“Can I just say, with all love and respect...Pete you look like shit.”

 

“Hello Peter, how are you, I’m fine thank you, so good to see one of my oldest and dearest friends,” Peter mock intones, rolling his eyes and accepting the double-shot soy cappuccino she hands him. “And how many times have I told you to use the front door?”

 

“You talk to me like I’m not a super-hero." Morgan pouts, pressing her hand to her chest in mock sadness. "Honestly, Peter, you wound me.”

 

“You’re a super pain in my ass,” Peter huffs in retaliation, snatching the paper bag from her hand. “Are these bagels?"

 

“From that little Jewish place around the corner you love. You’re welcome.” Morgan’s eyes narrow into slits as she swings herself up to sit on the counter-top next to him. “Look, not that I don’t enjoy seeing your delightful self but I sorta came here to talk shop. Did anything…weird happen last night?”

 

Peter splutters a fraction, coughing violently as a few drops of coffee go down the wrong hole and enter his airway.

 

Morgan raises a finely trimmed eyebrow at him.

 

“Yeah. Sure, absolutely fine. Why, what do you mean by weird?”

 

“Well it’s just that Bruce called earlier this morning. Seem like the monitors picked up something odd, around eleven-thirty. Some sort of spike in thermo-nuclear energy…and the epicentre was somewhere around here.”

 

Peter’s heart thunders so forcefully he’s surprised Morgan can’t hear it through the flimsy material of his sweatshirt. He forces himself to laugh.

 

“Well gee, that is weird. I dunno, nothing interesting happened around here…I mean maybe it’s something to do with my Spidey powers? Or the uh…the cat.”

 

“The cat? Peter you don’t have a cat, you’re allergic.”

 

Morgan’s gaze is suddenly caught by something over Peter’s right shoulder and her demeanour changes from business-like to flirtatious in the bat of an eyelid.

 

“Well hello there, I didn’t know Pete was hosting company. Peter, you should have told me, I would have brought extra bagels.”

 

Peter whirls around as Tony emerges from the hallway, adorably sleep-rumpled and bleary-eyed. He’s wearing one of Peter’s shirts - a fact seemingly not lost on Morgan. Peter dies a little inside. 

 

“Hi handsome, what’s your name?” Morgan teases, propping her free hand on her hip and tossing Peter a knowing look. Tony looks to Peter for help.

 

“Oh. Hi. I’m-“

 

“Howard,” Peter chokes out, cutting off whatever Tony is about to say or is thinking of saying. He shoots Tony a silencing look. “Howard…Parker. My cousin. From Wisconsin.”

 

“So now we’re kissing cousins? Morgan laughs gleefully. Peter shoots her an agonised look and she throws her hands up in surrender. “Okay okay, keep your secrets Parker. Sheesh, so protective.”

 

Morgan rolls her eyes and throws back the dregs of her coffee in a move that is all Tony. Peter sweats bullets as Morgan crushes the cup and tosses it in the recycling chute. 

 

“Look Parker, give me a call later. I can see your hands are full at the moment,” Morgan leers at him and he thinks he might be sick. She gracefully slithers down from the counter and brushes invisible crumbs off her black leggings. “And keep the bagels. Wouldn’t want lover boy to starve after your _strenuous_ activities.”

 

“Goodbye Morgan,” Peter says sternly, guiding her in the direction of the building’s lift.

 

“No seriously though, he’s super cute,” Morgan mock whispers as Peter all but shoves her towards the door.

 

“Yes, and _you_ are _leaving_.”

 

“Bye _Howard from Wisconsin,”_ Morgan calls out, waggling her fingers in Tony’s direction in a little wave. “Don’t wear out our friendly neighbourhood Spider-man too much.”

 

The last thing they hear is her high, tinkling laugh as the lift doors close.

 

“Well she’s a handful,” Tony remarks dryly, stealing a bagel from the crinkled paper bag.

 

Peter groans loudly, feeling cosmically screwed.

 

“You have NO idea.”


	6. Chapter 6

It rapidly becomes apparent that when Tony had said he had “twenty percent of an idea how he ended up here”, he was probably closer to a much lower number. That number being zero.

 

Peter feels the beginnings of a migraine coming on that have nothing to do with lack of sleep and everything to do with the dark-haired younger (older?) mentor (honestly, he’s not sure who is babysitting who any more) currently tormenting him. The borrowed sleep shirt rides a little low on Tony’s neckline, exposing the silky curve of his throat far more than Peter feels comfortable with. Did Tony always have a smattering of freckles over his left collarbone?

 

Peter stares at Tony, trying very hard not to let it get weird.

 

“Are you actually serious? I thought you said you had some idea how this happened.”

 

Tony shrugs, a little languid roll of his shoulder that threatens to topple his shirt collar entirely. Peter takes a hasty sip of rapidly cooling coffee.

 

“Look, I assume magic was involved. I mean, it was definitely magic. Some kinda hocus-pocus. Non-magic people don’t time travel, do they?”

 

Peter looks grim.

 

“You’re telling me that Tony Stark - TONY STARK!” (and here, Peter’s voice hitches an entire embarrassing octave) “-He of TIME magazine fame and several PhD’s-”

 

“I have several?” Tony looks entirely too pleased with this development.

 

Peter bristles.

 

“That is so not the point. You’re telling me that you, of all people, are happy to put this down to something as incredibly naive as _magic_? Tony I thought you had at least some vague scientific answer, something that could help us get you home. Magic is not an answer.”

 

Tony looks entirely too calm and a little too smug for Peter’s liking. He leans back in his seat and regards Peter with an air of self-confidence that Peter, despite somehow being older than Tony now, could never hope to possess.

 

“Mister Parker. As per your own words last night, a giant purple monster tried to destroy the universe and a wizard…who is also a surgeon I might add…told me I had to save it. Because he saw it in a vision. Now, someone you saw _die_ with your own eyes, is sitting at your coffee table, eating your bagels, wearing your clothes, which by the way smell amazing I gotta say…and you’re not willing to entertain the _slightest_ possibility that there is some out of the world explanation for all of this? C’mon Peter. You gotta be at least a little suspicious, right?”

 

Peter, who suppresses a cold shudder when the event of Tony’s death is dropped so casually in conversation, presses his hands together in his lap. He is filled with something like awe and a little fear, leading to his hushed confession. In the soft morning light everything feels cocooned, as though whatever he says will stay in this room, locked away like a secret.

 

“I just…I need to believe there’s something more solid in this. Something more than magic, or spells, or voodoo. I need to know this is real. That you’re real.”

 

Tony’s expression softens and in his eyes Peter sees flickers of the man he once knew so well. As Tony regards him with such warmth and tenderness, Peter glows hot all over and feels awfully young. He misses Tony terribly then - his Tony, who Peter knows deep down to his bones, is gone forever. He yearns so badly to be wrapped up in his embrace, to be comforted like the child he was then. Longs to crawl into a lap long since turned to dust, and hide from the monsters.

 

“Oh, Peter.”

 

Tony abandons his coffee and crosses the small space between them. He stands almost, but not quite entirely, between the “V” of Peter’s long legs dangling over the stool. Peter’s head swirls, struck by deja vu. Like this moment is a repeat of their encounter last night in his room. The flutterings in his stomach aren’t so foreign either. They’re the same flickering embers from the elevator, and the gym, which now threaten to ignite into a full on bonfire. Peter swoons; he realises it doesn’t escape Tony’s notice. Tony doesn’t seem to care.

 

“I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t,” Peter croaks, feeling wet heat prickle in his eyes. “Please, just don’t.”

 

“I’m real,” Tony croons softly. “I’m here Peter. This is real, I swear.”

 

His fingers are cool where they brush against Peter’s own. He picks up Peter’s hand, lifts it gently to his face. Lets Peter cradle the soft mound of his cheek, the angle of his jaw bone. Tony shuffles closer in towards Peter, now bracketed by Peter’s thighs, resting his hands lightly on Peter’s chest.

 

Tony’s eyes shut in gentle surrender and he lets out a quivering sigh, hot and damp, as Peter’s fingers trace over the arched bow of his mouth. His lips part and press something like an open kiss to the heel of Peter’s palm as Peter continues mapping out Tony’s face, as if committing it to memory by touch alone. When Tony’s eyes open they are filled with something more than curiosity. He licks his lips, his hands bunching the fabric of Peter’s shirt. His gaze drops to Peter’s own mouth, his intent clear. Peter’s erection, initially at half-mast, now makes itself known fully; he’s almost busting the seam of his jeans. His breath is ragged and wet as he grips Tony by the back of his neck, pressing the younger man to him and bringing their heated groins together. Tony lets out a breathy moan.

 

It’s then that the harsh jangle of a ringing phone cuts across the soft intimate noises of the two men.

 

Peter’s head clears then as the phone rings loud and persistent. He suddenly seems to realise where he is, and with whom. He pulls back and away from Tony, eyes wide and startled.

 

“Peter-“

 

“I-Tony- shit I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m not,” Tony says, surging forward towards Peter, whose enhanced reflexes manage to keep Tony at bay.

 

“This isn’t right,” Peter says. He feels horribly guilty, like he’s crossed some sacred boundary.

 

“Fuck right,” Tony quips, but he steps back anyway, running shaky hands through his dishevelled mane. The phone continues, growing incrementally louder and more demanding.

 

“We— ugh!” Peter groans, reaching for his phone from the counter. He lets his breathing even out for one beat- two- before answering.

 

“Hello, this is Peter?”

 

His eyes dart up to meet Tony’s own questioning gaze as he continues to take the call. He listens for a moment or two, then quietly thanks the person on the other end.

 

“Peter? Is everything okay?”

 

“It’s Steve Rogers. He’s in the hospital.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YA GURL IS BACK. Sorry for the long- LONG- wait for this chapter. And every other chapter. I promise I haven't abandoned this ship, I love these boys too much. I absolutely THRIVE on feedback so please please consider leaving kudos or better yet a comment to let me know if you liked the chapter and the story.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey Queens.”

 

Steve looks alarmingly frail and soft in the cocoon of bed sheets. A breeze stirs the petals of the tulips in their vase next to his bed. Peter gently 'tsks' when he sees the source of the air, an open window across the room. He crosses the floor and snaps it shut, ignoring the little noise of discontent from Steve.

 

“Leave it open,” Steve protests, frowning slightly.

 

“You can’t be in the cold air Cap, you’ll catch your death,” Peter scolds, earning a glare from Steve’s nurse in the process, a matronly woman with greying cornrows. Peter folds himself into the armchair next to Steve’s bed with practised ease. “And when are you going to stop calling me Queens?”

 

Steve grins but the action alone seems to take great effort, his thin pale lips stretching over the skeletal frame of his face, and it ends with a soft sigh.

 

“I’ll stop calling you Queens the day you stop calling me Cap.”

 

And that- yeah. Peter chokes a little.

 

“You know you’ll always be my Captain.”

 

Steve smiles again, placing a weathered hand over Peter’s own.

 

“You’ve always been too sentimental, Parker.”

 

“Look who’s talking,” Peter jokes, but his eyes linger too long on the dark shadows lining the puffy skin under Steve’s eyes, and the paper-thin frailty of his skin.

 

Steve huffs a soft laugh and pats Peter’s hand. His eyes glance over to the door, left slightly ajar. Tony paces outside, under strict instruction from Peter to stay put until called for.

 

“Is the poor bastard lurking outside with you, or should I be afraid of Russian assassins?”

 

“Language!” Peter admonishes.

 

*

 

_The car ride over is too noisy and too long for Peter’s anxiety. He bristles with nervous energy as he herds Tony into the Audi parked out the back of his building, trying unsuccessfully to keep Tony under wraps._

 

_“Captain America? Like THE Captain America?”_

 

_Yes, Peter had explained. THE Captain America. Steve Rogers, previously on ice, then defrosted, then sent back in time and now very much present but over a hundred years old (in any timeline) and on his last legs. Peter nervously chews his bottom lip, worrying the soft flesh between his teeth._

 

_“Like, the Steve Rogers that my father absolutely worshipped? I mean the guy’s like a celebrity,” Tony remarks._

 

_It bemuses Peter that this Tony doesn’t seem to grasp his own celebrity and infamy. He wonders if some of the old murals are still up around the city. Over twenty years later and a few of them still drew a crowd, fans and admirers leaving flowers and gifts. Peter used to go there on particularly bad nights, feeling a little less alone as he gazed upon the artworks and letters left there. There could never be another Tony Stark._

 

_But maybe now…absolutely not. He can’t let his imagination run wild. Not when he has no idea how permanent their situation was. And certainly not when Steve needs him._

 

_“Hey Parker you might wanna concentrate on driving,” Tony snaps, drumming his fingers on the dash in front. They ignore the simmering tension between them that had been left unattended since the interruption of the phone call. Peter’s insides still throb with a molten want, but it’s tempered by the anxiety brought upon by the news from the hospital._

 

_“Says you,” Peter rebukes with no real malice._

 

_“Yeah, says me. Kinda don’t wanna die before I meet THE Captain America. Although-“ Peter turns to meet Tony’s gaze. “I don’t see why we couldn’t have taken the suits. Going out on a limb here and assuming you kept the tech and it would still fit these glorious hips of mine.”_

 

_“Like a glove,” Peter replied truthfully. “But you honestly can’t see how Spider-Man swinging through the streets of Manhattan with Iron Man in tow would be a problem?”_

 

_“Okay. Fair. Probably like-“_

 

*

 

“-like seeing a ghost,” Steve pales. He lifts a shaking hand to his mouth, rubs over his face in disbelief. “Tony is that— but I don’t understand. H-how?”

 

“We don’t really know either,” Peter admits, gesturing for Tony to come closer. Tony - for once - looks appropriately demure as he lets Steve appraise him with a kind of morbid fascination. “But he’s here. Cap, it’s really him.”

 

“And you’re telling me I’m not dead? This isn’t some figment of a dying man’s imagination?”

 

Peter reaches for Tony’s hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world and none of them think to question it. Tony’s fingers are warm and dry beneath his touch. Tony stumbles forward and perches himself on the arm of Peter’s chair. Lets Peter bring over Steve’s hand to touch his. The nurse slips out, quiet as you like, bought by SHIELD long ago and well-remunerated enough not to question the visitors in the room.

 

Steve marvels at Tony like an apparition.

 

“My god, Parker. You live a hundred years and you think you’ve seen everything. Then something like this comes along. Floors you, it really does.”

 

“H-hey Mr Rogers.”

 

Steve meets Peter’s eyes and they share a fond chuckle.

 

“Mr Rogers?”

 

*

They spend an hour at Steve’s bedside before the two of them are ushered out of the room by the attending, insistent that Steve get some rest. At one point Peter lets Tony and Steve speak alone. He isn’t sure why, but something tells him Steve would like the opportunity to get to know the younger Stark. Steve, who had such convoluted, shared history with the original, and helped raised his daughter in his absence.

 

Peter isn’t sure what Steve says to Tony, but the latter is uncharacteristically pensive as they go to leave the room together.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Peter murmurs, absent-mindedly ushering Tony through the door with a hand on his lower back. He isn’t absent-minded enough to miss the way Tony subconsciously leans into his touch.

 

“Parker you’d need a lot more than a penny,” Tony snarks. Peter doesn’t move his hand.

 

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Peter asks softly as they slide into the buttery leather seats of the Audi. But he doesn't start the car, not yet, and Tony doesn't question him.

 

The air between them is hot and heavy, filling the pregnant silence.

 

Tony licks his dry, chapped lips, face unreadable. Peter’s heart pounds.

 

“Please.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're anything like me you've seen the movie more than once and you haven't stopped crying since. Hopefully this story is the pick-me-up we all desperately need after Endgame.
> 
> Your kudos/comments are very much appreciated! If you have enjoyed reading the story please consider leaving some feedback ^^


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